No, prescient Memory!
Thine an auguster destiny.
Thy morning rays draw birth
Beyond the gates of our mortality,
Thy founts from the Eternal welling forth.
Thy impulses unto us come
From an immortal home;
From being known in brighter spheres,
When dwelling in a loftier height,
Beyond the shadow of the night;
From a past indefinite,
Gulfed in unfathomable years,
Where the beautiful revealed
Shone on us, now half concealed;
Glowing instincts, purple hues,
Which the infant soul imbues,
Faintly fading as it leaves
Farther thy day-gates behind;
Till the unfolded man receives
Nought save humanities that bind
Him to the life of human kind.